Essence
by Melody Elliot
Summary: Based on the premise that Erica is not gay, and we were just not privy to her private freak-out on the show over her budding relationship with Callie. Erica/Callie eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Essence (1/5)

Disclaimer: The characters in this story and the show _Grey's Anatomy_ belong to Shonda Rhimes, ABC, etc. I am making no profit from this story, and it's even highly likely that I will return Erica when I'm done with her. Maybe 

Rating: T/K+ for mild language

Summary: Based on the premise that Erica is not gay, and we just were not privy to her private freak-out on the show over her budding relationship with Callie. Erica/Callie eventually.

A/N: I started this story at the beginning of July, but then life intruded brutally and it was forgotten. I rediscovered it recently, and I wanted to finish it before the new season started. I had originally intended to do a little bit more with the story line, but real life has barely allowed me to accomplish what I have. I hope it isn't too disappointing for the faithful Erica/Callie readers.

This has not been beta read. Any mistakes are entirely my own, and I apologize in advance.

EEEEE

I have always prided myself on my unswerving stability. When the people around me make a mess of their personal lives – some rather publicly at Seattle Grace, I've learned – I am able to rise above it all and focus in on the task at hand. My name will not be drug through the mud because I leave my personal life at the door every day before I enter the hospital. Mind you, I stay up on the latest gossip, almost involuntarily it seems, since all of my scrub nurses and most of my residents keep their mouths closed about as well as they keep their pants on.

Meredith and Derek are taking a break, and now he's seeing a nurse. Scandal of all scandals, the dream couple is on the skids. Again.

Christina Yang, bane of my existence that she is, now prefers to hang out with corpses because she has apparently "lost her groove." Maybe she should call Stella; come to think of it, maybe she should call Taye Diggs instead.

Izzie Stevens and George "I'm an Idiot" O'Malley fell apart as a couple about as soon as they got started. I took a particular sort of vindictive pleasure when I overheard two of my scrub nurses discussing the root of their problems – colossally bad sex. Thank God I didn't have my scalpel actually inside my patient's chest at the time. I probably would have cut something vital trying to suppress the tremors of silent laughter wracking my body.

Just the mention of O'Malley makes my blood boil underneath my cool demeanor. He had something so perfect, someone so beautiful, who was willing to do anything and be anyone for him…. And he fucked it up. Royally. I would have given up anything to have been in his shoes, even willingly taken a lifetime of second places next to Preston Bur-

Wait a minute!

_Erica Marie Hahn, where is your head? First of all, you do NOT settle for second place to Preston Burke. That has to be a violation of one of the commandments. Maybe not the ones from God, but definitely the ones by which you live your life!_

_Secondly, did you just have a romantic thought about a co-worker, who happens to be your best friend, who happens to be a woman??_

As the enormity of this mental admonishment slammed fully into my conscious self, I came to a dead stop in the middle of the bustling hospital hallway. My sudden stop interrupted the natural flow of people, and I was nearly run over by an over-eager intern scrambling to do someone's bidding. Granted, the collision was technically my fault, but since I am a nationally-known cardiothoracics surgeon and he is an intern, I felt no remorse whatsoever when I barked a crass insult his way. His eyes widened as he scurried away from my glare.

Unfortunately, the momentary distraction of the encounter with the intern evaporated as he slipped back into the flow of people and left my line of sight. I looked around me and ducked into the nearest doorway, a lounge area for doctors to prop up their feet and enjoy a soda between surgeries. Sighing in relief to find it empty, I slumped onto one of the tacky blue sofas and cradled my head in my hands, trying to sort through my muddled thoughts.

_Okay Erica, take a deep breath. Callie is your best friend, your only friend at this hospital, and lately, the only person you hang out with after hours. It's only natural that you would develop a deep affection for her. It's not unheard of for a woman to love her best friend – in fact, it's kind of a requirement._

I was ready to buy this line of reasoning from the logical piece of my mind when that damn emotional side spoke up and asserted itself. Really, I'm not schizophrenic. This is just how I deal. Usually, the emotional side is bound and gagged, because there's no room for emotion in most of my internal dilemmas. But now, it's free from its bondage and as outspoken as my precocious, five year old niece.

_Erica Hahn, is that really all you feel for Callie? Does a woman usually ponder how soft her best friend's lips must be? Or admire the curve of her hip where it joins smoothly with her torso? How about this one – should you really be wondering what those long legs would feel like wrapped around your wai-_

"Stop it!" I shrieked out loud as I snapped up straight in my seat and my eyes flew open. A quiet choking sound drew my attention to the doorway where Callie stood, wide-eyed and frozen on the threshold, half in my haven-turned-prison and half in the chaos of the hallway.

"I was just – are you – do you want – should I just go?" Callie stuttered from her position in limbo at the door, pointing awkwardly back toward the hallway. I could only stare dumbfounded at her as I pondered my ridiculous luck to be interrupted by the one person I really wasn't sure I wanted to see right now. Not if I wanted to clear my head, that is.

When she started to edge away, I finally shook myself out of my stupor and stood.

"Wait, Callie, of course you can come in. I was just…. Having a discussion with, uh, myself." I felt my cheeks heat up at the absurdity of my explanation and ducked my head to avoid the amused glint in her eyes.

"Well, you know, what I walked in on sounded a lot like an abusive relationship to me. As a doctor, I feel as though it is my duty to report this to the social worker on call." Those lips I had been so recently fantasizing about pulled themselves into a smirk as she closed the door behind her and moved to my couch.

"Shoot, I should probably report myself. Sitting here alone, arguing with no one… This place is turning me into a damn basket case." I grumbled good-naturedly, giving her a wry grin as we sat down on the couch.

Callie turned her body to face me on the couch, drawing one leg up under her and tossing her loosely curled hair over her shoulder. She cocked her head sideways, and I could tell by the steadiness of her gaze that she was dissecting my mood, trying to determine how upset I might possibly be, despite my attempt at levity. I offered her a small smile and leaned my head back against the couch as I exhaled and closed my eyes to avoid the scrutiny coming from my right.

As I sat there pondering my conflicted feelings, I felt my hair shift near my temple, and my eyes came open again to see Callie gently finger-combing and restoring order to my blonde hair. I hadn't bothered to run a brush through it when I freed it from my scrub cap after surgery, but I trusted her to remedy any issues with my hair.

I relaxed into her hand and into her gaze, allowing myself to study her features as she patiently detangled my hair. Her own hair was swept carelessly back from her forehead, with a few soft curls from her temple resting near her cheek. The lines of worry and tension that have been on her face for months following the disintegration of her marriage to George are nearly non-existent now. Her eyes are brighter, her demeanor much lighter and carefree; she strikes me as a woman just entering the world, full of pep and unbreakable enthusiasm for life.

I reach out and take her hand from my hair, giving it a squeeze and holding onto it as they come to rest comfortably on the cushion between us. I can't help but touch her like this, stolen little moments of friendly intimacy – well, mostly friendly – and the smile that lights her face warms my soul.

"You know," she begins playfully. "You do happen to have this ultra convenient emotional outlet that you can go to when you are struggling with something. I mean, it's not like your best friend doesn't work with you, in the same building, or spend basically all of her free time hanging out with you."

I laughed lightly as I felt a surge of affection for the woman sitting with me. "You're right, and I will remember that fact when I have a real issue in my life, one that me, myself and I cannot handle on our own."

Callie tossed her head back in laughter at my dry wit, and I tried to ignore the way my heartbeat sped up in reaction. She lifted our still joined hands to lay against her cheek while her eyes danced with lingering merriment.

My own chuckles stilled suddenly when the back of my hand met the soft skin of her cheek, and I swallowed reflexively against the lump in my throat. Confusion flooded me in waves as I tried to reconcile the tingling warmth that her nearness triggered in my gut with the simple reality that this was _Callie_. She was my confidant, my buddy, my ally... When did that turn into so much more? Was I sleeping, or just blissfully floating through life, as my platonic feelings evolved into a deeply-rooted attraction?

_Holy shit, did I just think that?_

The very sudden acknowledgement and awareness of my own feelings ignited a panicky denial in my usually well-ordered mind. I abruptly released her hand and stood up off of the couch. "I need to go check on Annemarie Davis. She had some difficulties during her surgery this morning, and I don't trust Yang to page me if she develops complications."

I spouted off my weak excuse, and quickly left the room. Glancing briefly over my shoulder as I passed through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of the startled look that crossed Callie's features.

Muttering under my breath in self-derision and annoyance, I hurried to the elevator at the end of the hallway and jabbed the button. My thoughts raced while I waited.

_I am NOT attracted to girls! I like men, for Pete's sake! One of the first things I noticed when I came to Seattle Grace was how unbelievably attractive Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan are, and I seem to recall referring to them as "Pretty and Prettier" to Richard! I like men!_

The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding, and I stepped to the side to allow its passengers to exit. I moved into the vacated interior and absently pressed the button for the floor of the ICU. As the doors slid shut on the busy hallway, Callie emerged from the lounge and briefly made eye contact before she was erased from my view. I was left staring into the reflective metal of the elevator doors, trying to understand the emotion raging in my body that creased my forehead into lines of worry. As much as I wished to continue my internal "I like men" rant, I couldn't quite smother a nagging voice in my heart that seemed to steadily gain strength until it was all I could hear.

_Callie means more._


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Essence (2/5)

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. Just for fun. Etc, etc, etc.

A/N: In case you haven't yet figured it out, this story is heavily told through Erica's thoughts. There is little dialogue in this, which makes me a bit nervous because I know people like dialogue, but I wanted to take a journey through Erica's inner feelings.

Also, I forgot to mention in the previous chapter, that this story starts after Erica and Callie have developed a close friendship, but before Addison came for her visit. It will conclude with the events of the season finale…we just have to struggle through to that moment with Erica!

EeEeEeEeEeEe

Have you ever felt like someone has pressed the fast forward button on your life and tossed the remote out of your reach?

I've been trying to reach that damn controller for weeks now, trying to slow down the blur that has become my life.

After the day in the lounge, I buried my internal revelations in the deepest recesses of my heart, quickly stifling my feelings whenever they arose. I invited Callie out for drinks at Joe's the next night, and the awkwardness from the previous day was forgotten as our relationship continued as normal: late nights partying, dancing, or hanging out at one of our homes. I was just settling into my well constructed web of denial when Addison Montgomery blew into town and set fire to my cocoon. Her observation that Callie and I appeared to be a couple – a gay couple, mind you – rattled the both of us:

I tried harder to hide my true feelings from the world, from my co-workers, from Callie. It was important that I beat my feelings into submission and present my façade of stability. I had given up striving for actual control over the intense emotions that threatened to consume me; it took all of my efforts to preserve my professional mask that protected me from the sticky barbs of the gossip grapevine.

Callie pulled back from me and became jumpy, clearly uncomfortable and opposed to the idea. My heart broke a little to see how vehemently she denied those feelings for me.

Damn you, Addison.

However, when Callie decided that she needed to prove her heterosexuality with a torrid affair with Mark Sloan, I nearly came unglued. I was disappointed, wounded, and pissed beyond all belief. I let the anger drive me, over-riding my deep feelings of affection, and I told her exactly how I felt about her new, sordid hobby.

Ok, maybe not exactly how I felt, but I was thankful to still be able to stand up for myself despite the near crippling emotion gripping my soul. I deserved better from her, as a friend, whatever my own feelings may be.

However, I have no idea where Callie came up with the idea of a threesome. Maybe this was her awkward way of apologizing to me for ditching me to screw with Sloan – literally. As if inviting me to hypothetically join in a hedonistic, on-call rendezvous with her and Sloan could absolve her from dropping me at the curb like yesterday's garbage and mend the damage between us. How could she think I was that easily bought?

Well, maybe I bought it a little. I think I was just so damned grateful to be included in her life again that I went with it. I missed her. She was my best friend, and she was finally acting like it again. At least I was rewarded with the chance to lay my head on her shoulder in the cafeteria, hear that little break in her breathing before normal respiration resumed…

_Shit. I think I like Callie._

Yeah, I finally admitted that one to myself after our "Sapphic Salad" incident. But only to myself. As it was, I wanted to hyperventilate about 80 of the time when my mind wandered to that realization, and since I thought about Callie every few seconds when I wasn't in surgery, I walked around chronically short of breath. I think the nurses at the station near my office thought I had started an exercise program because I always seemed to be gasping for air. Either that, or a wicked smoking habit.

But even as I joined in Callie's efforts to tease Mark out of his "new leaf," I knew there was another, unacknowledged motivation for playing along. This game she was playing with Mark, the farce she created that involved the 3 of us in a tangled, sexual web, provided a ready excuse for me to take these new feelings for a spin. If Callie was already flirting with me, what was the harm in flirting back, just to see how well these new feelings fit?

I soon discovered that I wore them all too well.

Perhaps a little too well, as displayed in that fateful elevator.

I was feeling so cocky, so confident, so caught up in the freedom of emotion that I had allowed myself over the past few days that the reins on my control slipped through my finger tips. When Mark Sloan taunted me with his self-assured sexual ego, I just could not resist one-uping him.

"You couldn't handle the two of us." I rose to his bait before conscious thought could interject with a very valid warning that I was entering unexplored waters.

"Oh, I could. I won't, but I could." I hated the smirk on his face, the one that declared victory because he was the one sleeping with Callie, and he thought there was nothing more I could do to win this argument.

He was wrong.

Yet when my mouth descended gently upon Callie's, beating Mark Sloan in this little elevator competition was the last thing on my mind. The moment our lips met, my world consisted only of silky black tresses, cherry-flavored lips, and a startled puff of cottony air against my mouth.

_Erica Hahn, what ar-_

Coherent thought splintered as I abandoned all caution, and I simply acted in the moment, lightly teasing the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue as I kissed her. Callie stood motionless in my arms, moving neither away from me nor toward me, yet allowing me to continue with my own exploration.

I couldn't think about her non-committed response as I ever so gently consumed her. This was, perhaps, the most honest moment I had ever had in my entire life, and I could feel my very being burning with the delicious restraint it took to kiss her like this.

I sensed the logical part of me breaking through my haze, trying to push doubts and concern into my heart, but I effectively suppressed it without a moment's hesitation. In a few seconds, I would hand control back over to its practical guidance, and I would feel every bit of regret, worry, and indecision that would accompany this decision. Logic has always ruled me, and in a few moments, it would rule me again. I knew that. But it was not going to steal this from me, not now.

Right now, I was going to revel in the honesty of my actions, exult in the burning emotions coursing through my veins like fiery freedom, and worship the purity of the emotion I felt for Callie in a single kiss.

It might be my only chance to open the window on my heart, with no shutters on my feelings, and I threw back the sash to let the glorious sunlight pour in.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Essence (3/5)

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own. Not really sure I'd want to, but I do enjoy borrowing for a bit of fun. No profits are being made (gah).

A/N: Erica is not unbreakable. This felt real for me – I hope you all feel the same. I am most nervous about this chapter.

EeEeEeEeEeEeE

I made it as far as my car before my wonderful, bubbling euphoria ebbed and reality came crashing into me like a twenty foot wave breaking on the sand. The enormity of what had just happened, what I had just done, what I had _shown_ to the two people in the elevator with me, had me literally staggering into the driver's side door. Bands of agony burned white hot around my heart, the scalding grip of panic chasing the breath from my chest as I slowly slid down the side of my vehicle to collapse on the cold asphalt. I felt like I was suffocating, drowning on the despair that surged up in my chest.

How could that _really_ be the true me?

_I'm not gay…am I?_

Time whizzed past me, slipping through my fingers like fine grains of sand as I sat on the pavement. _How do I reconcile these two pieces of myself?_ My past, my family, my world – they all demand a strict adherence to the norms of this society, a culture of Adam and Eve, a tradition of male and female. Never once in my forty year past did I ever doubt the validity of this expectation, nor even contemplate the possibility of deviating from common practice.

When did this become so hard to swallow? Why do I constantly feel like my own skin shrunk over night and morphed into the consistency of coarse wool, like who I am and what I believe will never again be held steady in the power of my own will?

What a fucking mess.

I lay there, slumped pathetically against my car with my racing thoughts in turmoil, until the chill of the Seattle night air crept solidly into my bones. I welcomed its cold presence, the bitter bite of the crisp, evening air bringing the first hints of rain to my nose. Not long after, icy drops began to fall, effectively wetting my absurdly expensive and thoroughly rumpled clothing.

_Perfect._

I heard footsteps coming near me, the uneven patter of sound on the asphalt speaking of the owner's attempt to dodge puddles and raindrops while darting toward the appropriate vehicle. For a split second, my heart fluttered in breathless anticipation as my cruel imagination tempted me with the idea that it might be Callie coming to look for me, to talk about all of the unspoken emotions that filled that elevator with us.

But it was Christina Yang who came into view as she rounded the red SUV a couple spaces down from where I sat. She came to a sudden, crashing halt when she caught sight of me on the asphalt, and the mixed emotions of confusion, resentment, and anger danced a comical display across her features before she settled in on concern and hurried to my side.

Holding her battered green umbrella above my soaked body, she went down to her knees next to me and breathlessly spoke: "Dr. Hahn, are you alright? Were you attacked? Where are you hurt? Can you speak – can you move – let me call for a gurney and we'll –"

"I'm fine, Yang," I cut her off sharply as I tried to summon forth the usual contempt that flooded my system when the over-eager resident was anywhere near me. What I found, instead of hurtful sarcasm, was a fathoms-deep void of despair and emptiness. I didn't even have the energy to belittle her or push her away as her cool, efficient hand gently probed for my pulse and tilted my chin toward her so she could study my pupils.

As I gazed resignedly into her jet-colored eyes, I could not stop myself from analyzing the quality of the emotion illuminated in her stare by the nearby lamppost. What I saw shamed me; confusion over why I was laying on the asphalt mixed with concern for my well-being, but it was the genuine compassion with which she studied me and gently touched me that nearly rent my heart.

I desperately wanted to withdraw into my superior air, to spew forth the cutting comments of which I knew I was capable, but it was just too much. I had been fighting with myself for weeks, warring against the burning emotions that had been kindled in my soul by an unexpected attraction, until I hardly knew myself anymore. I had been losing this battle for too long, and I was too tired to fight anymore. The taste and feel of Callie's soft lips tonight were the catalyst to my undoing, and when I realized that the gentleness in Christina's eyes and hands was rooted in an actual _affection_ that this woman had somehow developed for me, despite how horribly I had treated her, it was just too much.

One pearly tear spilled unbidden from my lid, to our collective astonishment. Christina seemed frozen in place with her hand lightly cupping my chin, the rain falling in a steady melody around us as she faltered over what to do, when suddenly my grief crested and broke…broke me. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I convulsed into sobs, curling desperately into her hand, into the misted car door, into my very self as my control finally snapped under the weight of suppressing my essence for so long.

The hurt tore at me, bludgeoning my already battered composure, and I could feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating, as I always did when I allowed sadness to consume me so thoroughly. Christian shook herself out of her shocked stupor as my breathing escalated, and she pulled me awkwardly against her as her umbrella clattered to the pavement.

"Breathe, Dr. Hahn, breathe. You need to slow down and breathe. Come on, feel my own breathing," Christina murmured into my ear in a low voice as her arms held me up, kept me from falling face-first into a puddle on the asphalt.

If anyone has ever hyperventilated, then they know how difficult it can be to push aside the panic that triggered the attack. It consumes you, all teeth and tongue and acid that mangles and erodes at your sense of self until all that is left is an indiscernible shadow of the person you were before you lost control. I could no sooner compartmentalize the raging attraction to Callie or ensuing loss of personal equilibrium than I could prevent the Seattle rain from pouring down 300 days out of the year…especially _this_ night, when my grief left me in a debilitated puddle on the ground.

But the presence of Christina Yang during my breakdown, this ultimate display of grief and lost control, snapped some vital thread within me. This was not happening, not in front of my least favorite resident in the hospital. It just couldn't.

Somehow, with supreme effort and force of will, I wrenched my mind off of my crisis of self and honed in on the steady feel of Christina's chest rising and falling against my own in time with her quiet counting.

"In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4. In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, come on, Dr. Hahn, just do the counting in your head." Christina's quiet murmuring gave me a focal point, and I felt my respiration ease slowly back toward a normal pattern. As blessed oxygen permeated the fog in my brain, I really did find the strength to at least nudge my concerns aside as I grappled with my internal demons.

It's a funny thing, focusing the entirety of your concentration on the simple act of breathing. The experience is humbling as you realize that this simple, subconscious reflex feeds your entire being, every single organ, vessel, and cell in that awkward and vulnerable casement that we are bound to reside in as we spend our allotted time in this world. I take it for granted every day, relying on it to nourish my body, steady my hands in the OR, and fuel my passions…such as they are.

After one very long minute of focusing on the meaning and pattern of my breath, I pulled myself together enough to realize that I was NOT ok with literally and figuratively leaning on Christina Yang right now. My body went rigid in her arms as my mind took back the reins of control. I know she felt the change in me because it was now her turn to stop breathing. Slowly, I pulled back from her and leaned against my car door, proud that I had the strength to do it on my own without her help. I still felt shaky at my core, but my mind was returning to its normal razor sharpness.

Yang remained kneeling in front of me, motionless, frozen in place with her hand hovering a hair's breadth from my arm, ready to catch me if I fell kamikaze-style toward the pavement again. I read the emotion in her eye, a desperate battle between lingering concern and curiosity and a burgeoning fear at my reaction. She opened her mouth once to speak, but closed it quickly as if she decided that silence was safer.

"I believe I can handle the situation from here, Yang." Clinical speech patterns seized control of my voice, yet I knew she would read between the lines. She was, after all, exactly like me in so many unnerving, irritating ways.

"Of course, Dr. Hahn, whatever you say." She nodded nervously and straightened with me as I slowly clawed my way up the side of my car to a shakily standing position. I probably should have accepted the help that she just _barely_ resisted offering me, but I made it upright all the same, complete with dignity intact. Well, as intact as it could be with wet, matted hair and scarily rumpled clothing.

_I deserve to at least acknowledge her. After all, she did just crouch in a puddle of rainwater for me, and now look at how scraggly and bedraggled her hair is… Oh God, what on earth does my hair look like?! I'm glad that Callie can't see me right now – no, stop. Stop it right now or you will end up right back in that puddle, and I am not going there twice with Yang._

Shoving my rattling thoughts brutally aside, I squared my shoulders and turned to fully face the young doctor.

"Your assistance with this… matter has been greatly appreciated." Her eyes widened in shock as I struggled through my thank you. My conscious appeased, I allowed my Attila the Hahn demeanor take over. Yeah, I knew that is what they called me, and I'll admit to smirking with pride every time it has reached my ear.

"Now that I have demonstrated how fully I am both a surgeon and a woman, I trust that mention of this matter will never reach another's ears. Not your pal Grey, not your gaggle of bumbling, numbered interns, and especially not to any of the senior residents or attendings. Do we understand each other?" I pinned her with a watered-down version of my usual, patented glare, but though thoughts of Callie were still intruding enough to weaken my knees, I felt as though I achieved my intentions.

"Of course, Dr. Hahn, absolute secrecy." She was, after all, still a brown-noser at heart, and I trusted that her eagerness to please me really would guarantee her discretion. To seal the deal, I decided to take it a step further.

"I have a double bypass scheduled for tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. The patient has high blood pressure and a history of aortic arrhythmia. I expect you in my office by 9:00 to review the necessary procedures you will be performing."

"I will be – you – 9 – aaaaaok Dr. Hahn, 9:00 a.m. sharp. I will be there, and I will be ready." I swear she almost bowed to me in her puppy-dog gratitude, but she settled on a nod of her head and turned to scurry through the sprinkles to her car.

Turning to my own vehicle, I finally unlocked the door and settled damply onto the driver's seat. I leaned weakly against the steering wheel and focused on fully returning my breathing to its regular pattern. My mind, though still slightly muddled from my breakdown, began an earnest attempt to interject reason into my emotional predicament.

_Erica, you need to get control over yourself. It is NOT acceptable to breakdown at the hospital. What if it had been Izzie Stevens that rounded that SUV? Or worse, one of the new interns? One way or another, this has to stop. The SGH grapevine will not carry your name like wildfire from floor to floor, so you need to settle this. Now._

With a new-found determination to reach some kind of resolution for my internal turmoil, I straightened up in my seat and buckled my safety belt. Sitting there with my spine aligned and my hands clenching the steering wheel, I slipped easily into the comfort of a logical and almost clinical dissection of my recent emotional weakness on the drive home.

Somehow, this all had to end.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Essence (4/5)

Disclaimer: Others own, not me. They profit, not me.

A/N: My thanks to those readers who have taken the time to review my story. I appreciate the feedback a great deal!

EeEeEeEeEeE

Waking the next morning, I felt like I had finally reached a resolution. After reaching my cozy home outside of the city the previous evening, I had been up half the night as I tried to methodically reason through my emotional dilemma. This, of course, meant that I settled onto my couch with a legal pad and pen to journal my thoughts and interject logic into this blunt analysis of my feelings. As the hour grew later, so late that it became early, the bottle of my favorite red wine became steadily emptier as the notes around me increased in multitude.

All night long, I went back and forth, weighing the pros and cons of acting or not acting upon my feelings. The potent memory of that sweet and telling kiss in the elevator kept intruding into my thoughts, robbing me of the ability to sterilize my turmoil so that I could regard it as simple data.

I finally gave up when I glanced at the clock and realized I would be lucky to get 4 hours of sleep before I would need to wake up to head back to the hospital. Leaving my notes strewn across the coffee table, I staggered up to bed and fell into the blissful escape of sleep.

As I struggled to wash the exhausted tension from my back and shoulders in the shower that morning, I fully embraced the decision I had made the moment my eyes opened from my brief sleep.

_I cannot pursue these feelings for Callie. I am Dr. Erica Marie Hahn, head of cardio at Seattle Grace Hospital. I have a professional reputation to maintain. Pursuing a relationship with Callie would be inherently controversial by nature, and I will not become just another bruised fruit on the hospital grapevine. Furthermore, I cannot risk the distraction of romantic involvement with a co-worker._

For most people, making a life-changing decision can leave them struggling with regrets and second-thoughts, even long after the deed is done. I know this only because my few friends have confided these misgivings to me during moments of alcohol-induced weakness, and I never understood this affinity for revisiting an issue that has already been decided and acted upon. Once I have determined my course, I follow it with unswerving loyalty and never look back.

Ever.

That's why it was so unnerving in the trauma room at the hospital later that day. The double-bypass that I had planned to work on with Yang had been postponed due to the urgency of Andrew Langston's predicament – it would require the wisdom and skill of multiple doctors to safely extract him from the many tons of cement slowly crushing his body. Callie and I rarely work on the same patient at the same time, because cardio and ortho just don't generally coincide. But as the fates would have it, we were to spend the better part of the day side by side as we struggled to free Andrew from his concrete prison.

The last thing I wanted was to spend my time in close proximity to her. Callie's own discomfort was starkly apparent, and I could practically taste the anxiety emanating off of her body every time our work brought us shoulder to shoulder in a collective, life-saving effort. Though I had already resolved to have no further romantically inclined contact with her, I was still riled by her skittish reaction to my presence.

Aren't we still friends? Best friends?

Does the thought of me in that context really disgust her that much?

It hurt me to consider that possibility. True, I had already discarded the idea of _something_ happening between us, but that doesn't mean I was not upset at her obvious rejection. I am far too proud for that not to sting, especially coming from the person that has easily been the best friend in my heretofore lonely life.

As the day wore on, my irritation grew. It was stuffy and cramped in the trauma room, and the presence of so many hovering bodies grated on my nerves. Normally, I can cleanly push aside the existence of others in order to accomplish my work, only becoming aware of them again when I require assistance in some fashion. But today, the sheer fact that I could not work by myself nettled me to the point where I could barely contain my temper.

If I was honest with myself, I would be able to admit that much of my anger was fueled by my own self-loathing: despite my firm decision, I could feel my resolve weaken every time I glanced at Callie…brushed up against her as we worked…or simply caught a whiff of her shampoo. I was reconsidering a life-changing decision, and I was furious with myself for not being stronger in my decision.

Doubt is for the weak.

Not for me.

Yet the more I lectured and belittled myself internally, the more irritated I became until I simply had to escape the trauma room. Ducking into the observation area, I grabbed one of the waters that had been nested in a cooler of ice for us to rehydrate and stretch our legs on breaks. I sipped lightly at the straw as blessedly cold liquid flooded my mouth and slid smoothly down my throat. I punctuated my swallows with absent minded nibbling on the plastic between my teeth as I observed the continued efforts going on in the trauma room I had just fled.

Watching Callie work through the glass, I noticed that the tense lines set in her shoulders had not eased much with my departure. Under my careful scrutiny, I saw Mark toss a flippant comment her way, eliciting a frown of contempt from my dark-haired friend. I heard a whisper of his ringing laughter through the glass divider, as Callie abruptly stood up and left Andrew's side. She pushed her way into the room, invading my haven and muddling my thoughts as her distinctive scent wafted past me on her journey toward the cooler.

I remained where I stood, idly sipping my water and seemingly watching the other doctors in the room, though I was discretely studying Callie from the corner of my eye. It seemed that she realized she had not thought her escape through entirely, and she visibly wavered in place as she apparently debated where she should stand in a room alone with me. When she eventually committed to walking across the small area to observe from the other corner of the glass, my irritation evaporated as raw hurt edged itself into the forefront.

My internal struggle and colossal decision from last night might have been a moot point.

Allowing my true feelings to break into the light in that elevator may have just cost me my best friend.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Essence (5/5)

Disclaimer: These beautiful characters belong to Shonda and company, and they make all the money. I make nothing from this story.

A/N: Thank you for taking this journey with me. I enjoyed writing this story, even when Erica's thoughts were dark and depressing – I hope you drew equal enjoyment from reading me.

EeEeEeEeEeEeE

After the turmoil and awkwardness of the observation room, I threw myself head first into the efforts of saving Andrew, working with renewed fervor and concentration, trying desperately to rid myself of the new worry and grief clutching at my insides. My guts felt twisted into knots, and the ache in my breast made it hard to maintain a normal respiration pattern.

It seems no matter how I've resolved to feel about Callie, she still manages to disrupt my breathing. Damn her for making me care so much.

And damn me for not controlling myself better.

By the end of the day, when Andrew had been freed from his entrapment and operated upon to mend his internal injuries, I felt drained of all energy. I had been fighting against far too much today: the cement determined to leech the life out of Andrew, the suffocating sensation of being trapped in the trauma room, Callie's obvious avoidance of my very presence, and my own mutinous, painful heart.

It was just too much to endure, and I wanted to go home.

As I sat at a nurse's station finishing my neglected paperwork from the day, the Chief saw fit to drop by and add further grief to my already crushing burden. His words stung more than they should have, and I hated the doubt that seemed to creep into voice as he questioned my position as the head of cardio at Seattle Grace. My conscience had already reminded me numerous times that I needed to do better with Yang – though my offer to allow her to work with me on my double-bypass that had been scheduled for this morning had been made largely out of guilt, I did count it as a step forward. But that surgery never happened, and all Richard saw was my prickly behavior toward Yang during my slow descent into emotional hell today.

I felt my internal control over my emotions wavering, and the sensation of tears prickling at my eyes and building in my throat spurred my exit at the first plausible break in his reprimand. I broke down in front of Christina Yang yesterday, and I refused to allow the same weakness to spill forth in her presence yet again today.

As I fled from Richard's disappointed gaze and Christina's palpable joy at his words, my vision blurred and I _knew_ that I was going to cry at the hospital again. I ducked into the nearest on-call room and flipped the lock, stumbling over to the bottom bunk of the nearest bed as a wave of emotion nearly knocked me off my feet. I sat upright on the bed with my legs drawn tight to my chest and my head buried in the gap between my knees and chest.

I remained like that for several minutes, willing myself not to cry and angrily blotting away the stubborn tears that slipped out without my permission. I felt lost and confused at my predicament, and pissed beyond all belief at my lack of control.

_What has happened to me? This weakness, the indecision, the tears…this isn't me. This is Meredith Grey or Izzie Stevens or, for God's sake, Callie! But it's not me!_

And what happened to my resolution this morning to forget about any attraction to Callie and remain strictly professional?

I knew I had been anything but, and it boggled my mind how quickly an innocent friendship had exploded into a torrent of crippling lust and longing that violated every code by which I lived my life.

_But Callie doesn't feel that way in the least. When Addison suggested a romance between us, she avoided me like the plague. And since I kissed her last night in the elevator, her rigid posture and refusal to speak more than a handful of words to me spoke louder than any formal rejection ever could._

I reluctantly wrenched myself out of my depressed musings and dried my eyes on my sleeve. This unproductive self-pity was wasted on a hospital on-call room; it would be much more effective curled up in my bed where I could at least feel free to rage and storm if the desire seized me. Because I knew that, though I fought against it, this attraction was bound to break me over and over until I eventually either lost myself or just…broke beyond repair.

Running my fingers through my disorderly hair, I glanced into the mirror hanging by the door and gave my appearance up as a bad job. At this hour, most of the hustle and bustle of day life at the hospital had waned, and my disheveled person may as well match the emotion churning in my gut.

Hurrying to the locker room, I quickly changed out of my scrubs and into my street clothes, slamming my locker door and slinging my purse over my shoulder in my haste to flee from the confines of the hospital. The elevator doors slid smoothly open the moment I pressed the call button and swiftly carried me down to the main level. As I strode purposefully across the lobby, I slipped a hand into my purse to search for my keys.

When I pushed open the outer door, I was still struggling to find my keys and an actual twinge of panic had interjected itself into my thoughts. Were the fates conspiring against me today? I wanted so desperately to escape, yet the world seemed determined to throw up roadblocks at every turn.

I threw my purse onto a nearby bench and angrily plunged both hands into its vast depths. I don't know why I had allowed Callie and the salesgirl to persuade me into buying a bag with such a cavernous interior, no matter how many case files I was likely to tote home with me. At this moment, I wanted to set the blasted thing on fire and watch it burn until nothing remained but a pile of ash and my charred keys.

I dug through my possessions in irritation, eventually pulling out various items and setting them onto the bench as I searched desperately for my little metal ticket to freedom. I didn't even know Callie was near me until a shift in the evening breeze brought the smell of her shampoo to my nose, which was quickly followed by her hesitantly clearing her throat.

Before she could utter a complete thought, I heard myself prattling on about my missing keys. Every time she spoke, I interrupted her, desperate to drown out the verbal rejection that I could feel coming or delay it in its entirety. However, when my name fell from Callie's lips in a firm demand for my attention, my breath caught in my throat, and I finally looked up at her. As I gazed into her dark brown eyes, I felt myself silently begging her for a reprieve from the pain:

_Not now, please not now. I can't take anymore abuse today, Callie. If there is any part of you that still cares for me, you will allow me to leave this place with the last shreds of my dignity clutched pitifully in my hands. Please, I'm pleading with you._

If she registered my soundless request, she did not let on. I willed myself not to cringe as she opened her mouth to begin talking, but I was surprised to hear the hesitance in her voice.

"I just wanted to say…" She began and faltered, licking her lips and staring at me in silence. Somewhere amongst my turbulent emotions, concern for her well-being began to edge its way in with my grief and fear, and I waited silently for her to find her words.

The anxiety that I had read in her body language all day seemed to evaporate as she pondered my face in that single moment, and when her eyes darkened with emotion, I saw a determined glint shining in the liquid depths of her eyes.

"I just wanted to say…" Issued huskily from her mouth again, but this time it was followed up with action. I tensed up as she came toward me, then gasped in shock against her mouth as her lips captured mine in a mind-blowing kiss. Her powerful hands cradled my head, tilting it just so to allow her full access to my unmoving mouth.

I was stunned by her actions, frozen and immobile like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. At any moment I expected to hear the proverbial horn blow and feel the debilitating crush of a car's impact on my own broken body. Yet as the nanoseconds ticked by and her lips continued to press persuasively against mine, I finally snapped out of my stupor and gave into the moment.

My hands mirrored her own and tangled themselves amongst her silky dark tresses and baby soft skin, and I felt the weight of the world release its incessant hold upon my soul. Grief and stress poured off of me in waves, cascading down my body as though someone had tipped a bucket of cool water over my head. I felt cleansed, purified, and freer than I'd been in weeks.

When she pulled back slightly and stared intensely into my eyes, I read nothing but burning attraction and want in her features. My heart soared as she urged me close again, plundering my mouth with sensual kisses and pressing the length of her beautiful body against my own, until it seemed we had melted into each other. The last vestiges of the internal struggle that had plagued my soul for weeks splintered as her tongue met my own, caressing urgently as her hand slipped inside my coat to grasp my hip and pull me closer.

We kissed until I felt I might burst from the joy of it, and then broke apart to gasp for air. I drank in her features as she struggled to regain her control, her luscious lips wet with my lip gloss and her eyes like molten fire as she stared hungrily back.

"What just happened here?" I questioned hesitantly. After enduring weeks of agony as I grappled with my foreign feelings for Callie, I needed to hear reassurance from her that this was not going to leave me even worse off than before.

Instead of causing Callie to doubt herself, as I had feared, I watched those beautiful features slide into a confident smirk as she slowly raked her gaze over me from head to toe. Meeting my eye again, she closed the few steps between us and slid her arms around my waist.

"I just kissed you, Erica Hahn. Right here, in front of God and country and the people of Seattle Grace Hospital." I picked up on the emotional glint in her eye as her voice slowly quieted and the intensity of her stare softened into a gentle, loving caress. "And unless you are planning to run out on me, I intend on continuing what I started until I've somehow eased the burning feeling inside that I've been trying to ignore now for weeks…"

Her voice died off as she finished, and I answered the question in her eyes by capturing her lips with my own, pouring myself into that kiss as I revealed the results of my weeks long debate over my feelings for her. Every ounce of lust and attraction broke forth on a groan as I slowly devoured her, returning her fevered kisses with my equal passion.

I had denied myself for ages, agonizing over this change in me and how the world, and Callie, would react to me. I had been broken, reduced to weeping in a puddle of rain water with only a long-standing enemy for comfort in my grief over my feelings for this woman. And now, every bitter feeling and worry had been cleansed from my body in her loving embrace.

Though I knew that our road was not likely to be easy, and I admittedly still needed to learn how to cope with a work place romance, I approached the task with a new-found optimism. With Callie in my arms at this moment, it seemed that the true Erica Hahn was finally revealing herself for the very first time.

I had finally allowed my essence to emerge and reign supreme.

I was free.


End file.
